For A Friend
by NerdoOfTheFiction
Summary: When Face feels like giving up, Murdock is there to stop him. It's amazing what a friend can pull you through. Rated T to be safe.


He was tired.

Tired of smiling for everyone all the time.

Tired of being a thousand people.

Tired of getting punched.

Tired of getting back up.

So he laid there.

The fact was that those last blows hurt way too damn much.

He didn't want to suck up the pain, because he was tired of doing so.

At least that's what he told himself.

Faceman was a man of options. He never walked blindly into anything. If some plan failed, there was always an escape route. That's just how his mind worked. He never said "can't" because it made him feel like a failure. He used "couldn't" because it was more of a temporary inability and "wouldn't" because it implied his personal taste; but never "can't."

And so Faceman _wouldn't _get up.

Yes, it might also be true that he _couldn't _get up.

But eventually, Face would get up. Because that's what he did.

The bleeding would eventually stop because blood clots. The aching would eventually stop because the cells in his body would rebuild. Everything would eventually be fine.

Hey, look at that. Not only did he lie to everyone he conned, but he lied to himself now, too.

Where would it end? The tangle of lies made him tired.

Face thought about that final blow that sent him to the ground. There was something else in it—like a blade or brass knuckles—that really dug into his skin. The pain seemed colorful almost. So on the color wheel of life; hope was white, death was black, and suffering was everything in between.

At least there was some comfort in that. Face hadn't started seeing black yet, so he wasn't dying. That's how it worked, right?

No need to worry. Time heals all wounds. Eventually.

It took Face this long to realize his eyes were closed firmly. Making himself take a deep, staggering breath he opened them just in time to catch a swift movement to the right of him. Murdock. The hat gave him away.

As Murdock's strong hands closed around Face's shoulders, Face tried to tell him he was fine. He wanted to tell him to just give him a minute, that he'll be up again. But the strangest thing happened—no voice came out. Now, that wasn't right. He cleared his throat and managed to say, "I'm fine," in the most questionable voice possible.

"Faceman, B.A.'s pulling the van around. We're gonna get you to a hospital, so don't you worry," Murdock emphasized those last three words.

"How are you feeling, Face?" When did Hannibal arrive at his side? Face looked at the tender expression on his colonel's face and began to wonder just how bad his injury was. Quite frankly, he didn't feel much other than throbbing anymore.

"I'm fine," Face repeated, stuttering only a little. Murdock lifted him carefully—so carefully—into his lap and Face saw the full effect of his injury. There was a lot of blood. That was an understatement. All Face could see was blood. It was soaked into his designer shirt and made his vision jump around. Staring at it made him dizzy. He clutched at Murdock's sleeve. He was only distantly aware of the screeching of tires.

Why couldn't he feel the pain? Where the hell was the wound under all that blood?

Finally, Face fell limp against Murdock. He was conscious, somehow. But he had no control of his body. His eyes closed but he felt himself being lifted and heard the doors of the van being opened. There were two sets of hands on him, but once he assumed he was laying in the van, one pair disappeared. The other was firmly but charily wrapped around his chest and shoulders. That's when he felt the pain.

It was a mere stinging at first, nothing major. There was discomfort. Then the burning began. There was something like fire on his torso. And finally, there was the most indescribable agony as if all of the knives of the world had just been lodged into his stomach. There was hell.

There was something worse than hell.

Face's eyes shot open and reclosed firmer than before several times, as if one of those options would make the pain less terrific. He sucked in huge gasps of breath, but found that any torso movement at all caused white hot anguish. He felt his body wiggling and his face cringing in a desperate search to find relief. Surely if he moved this way-oh, no; no better. But this way—nope. But what about-? Not even close.

The pain was insurmountable.

Surely this was the end.

Face finally gave in. There would be no eventual recovery from this. Hell, he didn't want there to be. Never had he experienced such a fiery, intense pain. Any liberation from this would be welcomed with eagerness.

But then Murdock's voice sounded in Face's ear. It was so gentle, and so sincerely frantic. "Facey, don't let me lose you."

Oh, Murdock. If he had any inkling of an idea of what Face was going through, he wouldn't ask for such a thing. He would indubitably agree that some release from the pain would be the best option for Face at the moment. Death would be welcome.

But, damn it, Face's career was that of a people pleaser's. And after a while, it became who he was. For all that he was worth; he could not let Murdock down.

Unbearable hurt or insufferable disappointment.

The final decision would not be his own. However, Face was tired of being tired; even if the duration was such a short time.

So he would fight like hell against something very much like hell.

Even when the blackness began to creep into the corners of his already blurred vision, Face made himself focus on Murdock's mindless musings. "You'll be alright, Faceman." "Just stay with me now." "We're almost there, I promise." "Everything's gonna be okay, you'll see. Just hold tight." "Please."

The black spots transformed into dark shadows that consumed his peripheral vision entirely. Like demons, the shadows danced and leapt across his eyes and made him tired. But this was a different kind of tired. The kind of tired people feared.

"I can't—," Face's word's surprised even himself. He cursed himself for saying "can't," when he "would," whether he liked it or not.

"No, no, Faceman," Murdock's breath was cool against Face's sweaty forehead, "You can. You can. I know you can. You're so strong, Facey. Just stay with me, okay? We're here now. The doctors can take care of you."

Face stopped trying to keep his eyes open because it was fruitless. And with them closed, he wasn't tempted by the shadows to sleep. He saw nothing, and he was able to just listen to Murdock.

Face didn't know at what point he finally slipped into unconsciousness, but there was a definite gap between his recollections of that excruciating pain and now's stiffness.

Although he was afraid of what he would find, Face opened his eyes. But it was the generic hospital bed and blankets covering his stomach. The white walls were home to only one framed image of a vase full of purple and red flowers and a closed window partially covered by curtains. There was no sound except the steady beat of his heart and that of his own breathing, which was louder because of the oxygen mask fastened around his face.

How strange.

But now that his life wasn't in immediate danger, all Face wanted to do was get the heck out of the hospital. There was one problem: any significant movement brought hell back. He tried to move his arms to take the darn mask off, but even that proved too difficult a task.

Restless and sore, Face managed to smile to himself. He did it. There was never a "can't." He was alive. And soon he would be back on his feet.

Hannibal appeared in his doorway.

His white hair matched the white walls and Face almost laughed. Hannibal seemed thoroughly contented upon seeing his lieutenant awake. "How are you feeling, Face?"

Rather than provoke unwanted stings, Face nodded as to say "good." The colonel sat on the edge of his bed. His eyes were bloodshot and he didn't have a cigar in either hand, which made him look out of character. Finally, Face's irritation pushed him to take off the mask, biting back the instant stabs.

"You sure you want to do that?" There was a flash of concern in the colonel's eyes.

"I'm fine," Face croaked. "Hannibal, what happened?"

"That creep pulled a knife on you. You don't remember?"

Face actually chuckled, "No, colonel, I just remember ending up on the ground."

Hannibal grunted and stood up, "Well, Face, he pulled a six inch blade on you when you landed that hit to his jaw. Up until that point, we thought that gang was strictly hand-on-hand combat."

"Mmm," Face was feeling the effects of some pain medication he assumed he was given. "Apparently not."

"Yeah," Hannibal looked hard at his lieutenant, "Apparently not."

"And where are B.A. and Murdock?" Face resisted the urge to put his hand against his stomach, which had begun to throb profusely.

"B.A.'s right outside your door," Hannibal motioned with his thumb to where he had first come in. "He's calling Murdock."

B.A. stepped in, as if on cue, and nodded his greeting. "How ya doin', Faceman?" B.A.'s voice was so unlike Hannibal's, it was almost comical.

"Fine, fine," Face smiled a little. "And you?"

"Now, Face," Hannibal turned towards B.A., "I think you should get some rest, right, B.A.?"

"How much does this guy need to sleep, Hannibal?" B.A. frowned, "He's been sleepin' the last four days."

"Four days!" Face was astounded, "I've been out that long?"

"Sure have," B.A. said matter-of-factly.

Face thought about it for a minute, staring at the hospital bed sheets. Four days. Wow. He must have lost a lot of blood. That knife must have really dug into his stomach. He shook his head. Four days.

"B.A.," Hannibal's voice was meaningful.

"Yeah, yeah," The jewel-clad muscleman brushed him off. "Faceman, you sure are one hell of a scary fool. Don't you ever do that to me again, ya hear? Or next time your hospital stay may be extended."

"You realize that you're threatening a patient," Face replied, amused. "But thank you for your concern, B.A."

Upon Hannibal's insistence, B.A. turned and left. The colonel followed after him but turned when he reached the doorway, "Get some rest, Face. I honestly don't know how you're so calm, but it must take a lot out of you."

Hannibal could always see right through Face's facades. It was disappointing, really. Some con-man he was.

With the team gone, Face touched his stomach where thick bandaged were taped firmly around him. The touch was agonizing, but he wanted to know exactly where the blade entered his skin. He carefully moved his hand around, testing each inch of the area. Finally, he found the spot that made him want to scream. Just next to the middle of his rib cage on the left side. How fantastic. He would be feeling the effects of that forever.

Hannibal had told him to get some rest, but how could he if that knife wound just wouldn't stop aching? Whether he slept or not, Face didn't know; but Murdock's presence brought him to awareness.

"Face?" Murdock appeared at the doorway timidly, not wanting to disturb the lieutenant.

"Murdock," Face pushed himself up to a sitting position, trying hard not to wince with every muscle twitch, "Glad to see you."

Murdock wasted no time in clearing the space between the door and the bed, promptly sitting on its edge. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, Murdock, fine," Face assured him. "Are you? You look a little…flustered."

"Well, hey," he laughed pathetically, "Gimme a break; my best friend's in the hospital."

After a moment of smiling, Face remembered to reply, "Sure thing" before the pilot pulled him in for a tender hug.


End file.
